i’m afraid of stars
fuck it
all of outer space.
how small it makes me.
i’d rather not count
the grains of sand
stuck to my thighs
after sex
on the beach
a millepede
scuttering next
to my shoulder
meteors shooting
blank over
my lover’s head.
not so blank.
i abort a galaxy
half named after me.
named ammo.
named nothing.
i don’t know how
to navigate a maze
without knocking down
walls. i don’t know
one place
one thought
one urge
from the next.
but i know
what it means
to roll over
in the middle
of the night
to shallow breath
of a quiet sleeper
who—when he wakes—
will disappear
inside me.